


whispers in the dark

by hellbeast



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Barely Canon Compliant, Dubious Science, Gen, Other, self-indulgent writing, weird science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:46:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellbeast/pseuds/hellbeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It was Tarn,” The sudden tensing of Optimus’ frame tells Rachet that his Prime now understands the severity of the situation, “The DJD is coming. To Earth.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Who's Afraid of The DJD?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Decepticon hunting other Decepticons was _still_ a Decepticon. The DJD might be coming to take care of "traitors", but that didn't mean they wouldn't turn their sights on the Autobots - or the humans - immediately after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transformers MTMTE (more like IDW G1) x Transformers Prime
> 
> Or, the author wants Tarn (and Skids and Thundercracker and Brainstorm) in more things
> 
> This fic is working off a lot of me ignoring canon and seriously fucking up timelines; the DJD plays a prominent role in MTMTE, but by that point the war is over and Rodimus is Prime and Ratchet is a part of the Lost Light’s crew. And I _say_ MTMTE x Prime, but inevitably, Robots in Disguise elements will come into play.
> 
> To make this work, it’s assuming that all IDW G1 defections - on both sides, so Drift, Cyclonus, Grimlock, Jetfire, and sort-of-not-really Thundercracker, etc etc – still occurred _in addition_ to Knock Out, and the DJD was formed shortly after the war left Cybertron. TF Prime is set, oh say, 2.5 million years into the war. The fighting’s definitely gone on for a good while and it accounts for the noticeable lack of certain Cybertronians (like the other members of Starscream’s TRINE and half the Autobots cough cough), and instead of 1.5 million more years of fighting, we instead have a wildly divergent timestream (There will still be plenty of vague almost-references to would-have-been MTMTE and RID canon, though).
> 
> However, this fic isn’t _entirely_ compatible with TF Prime canon either. Megatron’s been defeated, but whether or not he’s _actually_ dead is going to be left ambiguous. Knock Out defected to the Autobots, Starscream hasn’t _technically_ defected but there aren’t exactly any Decepticons to lead anymore, so he’s just kind of around. Soundwave hasn’t defected, but he’s an Autobot prisoner of war. Otherwise, all that’s left to the Decepticon cause are scattered genericons and drones. And the DJD.
> 
> Sidenote: I debated with myself a lot about some terminology, particularly in regards to frame type. I’m of the belief that just because a Cybertronian is of one frame type doesn’t mean that similar frame types are all the same. For example, not all frames capable of flight are necessarily seekers. I’m not sure what other word to use, though, so I might use aerial and seeker interchangeably with flier. Not all ground frames are ground pounders and they canonically differ in shape; I’d hardly call Fortress Maximus or Ultra Magnus the same as Rodimus or Skids. Heavy frames, minibots, speedsters, and all the rest; I’m finding it a little hard to come up with terminology that not’s entirely dependent on alt modes, considering that not all alt modes are forms of transportation (like Rung or Ambulon or Rewind or Chromedome).

The communications hub comes alight in a sudden whirl of chirps and beeps as it receives an incoming transmission on a neutral frequency. Something – Ratchet can’t quite pinpoint what – about the blinking gray symbol seems ominous.

(Later, he’ll realize it’s because no one should’ve been _able_ to call; The Nemesis was down and offline and there were no other Cybertronian strongholds on the planet. And any incoming transmissions from local space should’ve automatically aligned to either an Autobot or Decepticon frequency. There hadn’t been “neutral” frequencies since before Cybertron was lost.

Who would call them? Who _could_ call them? How? _**Why**_?)

Ratchet connects the call.

(What would've happened if he hadn't? He wonders about that, sometimes.)

[Hello?]

There’s silence on the other end, and then a soft, precise voice that makes the energon in his tanks churn.

[Hello, Autobot.]

[…How are you hailing from a neutral frequency?]

Ratchet feels he’s handling this rather professionally, considering. He tries to pretend the sharp pressure of dread squeezing his spark in its chamber isn’t choking the Cybertronian syllables in his vocalizer.

[Oh, it wasn’t all that difficult. Let us move past such trivialities, shall we? We are approaching this planet you currently inhabit. This… _Earth_.]

[What business could you possibly have _here_?]

It comes out less a question and more a demand, and the intensity of it must catch the other off guard, because there is a pause. Ratchet uses the opportunity to privately comm Optimus on the short-ranged Autobot channel.

 _Optimus. This is urgent; I need you at the communications hub_.

Optimus’ reply is immediate: _I will be there shortly_.

[How _hostile_ of you, Doctor. We go where we’re needed. And there a quite a few on that planet who are in dire need of our **services**.]

Ratchet can feel the tension in his own joints, and spares the brief hope that the voice hasn’t grown any softer. Peripherally, he is aware of Optimus’ arrival. Apparently, he’s not the only one.

[Ah, Prime. How telling. We shall arrive within the terran month.]

The connection is terminated from the other side and the screen’s hub goes dark. Ratchet can feel the rolling waves of confusion in Optimus’ EM field.

“Ratchet?”

“Optimus,” Ratchet vents a sharp exhale, “This is… bad. Bad, bad, bad.”

Bad is too simple a word to encompass what _this_ is, but it’s all that comes to mind.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Ratchet spares the brief thought of back-tracing the signal, but ultimately dismisses the idea. It wouldn’t do much good: he doesn’t need to know where they’re coming from.

And they’ve told him where they’re headed.

They’re _coming_. Here.

“It was Tarn,” The sudden tensing of Optimus’ frame tells Ratchet that his Prime now understands the severity of the situation, “The DJD is coming. To _Earth_.”

* * *

Ratchet hasn’t run into the DJD too often, by merit of being an Autobot and thus outside of their self-proclaimed jurisdiction. But as Chief Medical Officer of the Autobot faction – and a damn good doctor, slag to whatever smug aft flybot said otherwise – he’s dealt with more ex-Cons and prisoners of war than most others.

He’d been the one to try and develop patch software for Grimlock’s processor, the one to patch up Drift when he’d run afoul of old “friends”. Hell, he’d even patched up Cyclonus once or twice, on the rare occasions that the surly Cybertronian had been injured. And on every occasion that the Autobots took prisoners, Ratchet had been the one responsible for them.

So he knows.

He’s knows – intrinsically, somewhere in his spark – the sheer **_horror_** of the Decepticon Justice Division.

He’s been elbows deep in another mech’s innards, covered in energon and desperately trying to fuse torn lines back together, because a Decepticon would sooner rip themselves apart then let the DJD find them.

He knows, he’s been told of, and he’s _seen_ how they torture a mech to death until there’s nothing left, neither frame nor badge.

For them – Tarn, Vos, Kaon, Helex, and Tesarus; five **_monsters_** carrying the names of their fallen cities like badges of honor – to come _here_ , to Earth…

It won’t end well. There’s no way it can.

* * *

Two and a half weeks before the DJD’s ship – The Peaceful Tyranny, if Ratchet’s remembering correctly – is expected to land, Tarn sends another transmission.

Ratchet has half a processor to ignore it – Tarn’s not coming for them, but to his knowledge, they’ve got the only functional Cybertronian tech on-planet and are the only ones Tarn _can_ call. He can hardly dare imagine the consequences for _ignoring_ them.

He lets the transmission connect; this time it’s a holovid.

[Ah, Doctor. How… _quaint_.]

The humans are here today, Raf the closest of them. He looks up when Tarn’s face materializes and doesn’t stop looking, tiny mouth dropping open and eyes wide. Miko and Bulkhead, further away, look up curiously from their videogame. Jack, thankfully, is off somewhere with Arcee and Bumblebee.

“Ratchet?” Raf’s voice is a quiet, trembling thing.

Ratchet doesn’t answer him. He doesn’t let his optics stray from Tarn’s. He can’t afford to.

[Did you actually need something or are you calling just to be a pain in my aft?]

Tarn laughs at that, and the sound makes Rafael flinch. The movement draws Tarn’s attention and Ratchet does his damndest to pretend like he’s not seconds away from snatching the boy up and out of sight and terminating the transmission, calm façade be damned.

[… Yes, of course. I was remiss in our last conversation; you’re down there preparing us a warm welcome and I haven’t even told you who we’re _here_ for.]

Finally – _finally_ – Tarn’s optics stop pinning and dissecting Raf and slowly lift to Ratchet’s. It’s better this way, Ratchet tells himself, but it’s hardly convincing when he feels as though his spark is slowly being constricted. Megatron might’ve been the leader of the Decepticons, but Tarn is probably the most intimidating slagger Ratchet has ever had the misfortune of encountering.

[Considering that there are no longer Decepticon forces on this planet, I _had_ wondered,] Ratchet aims for dry and unconcerned with every fiber of his frame, from helm to pede, [If you’d gotten lost.]

Behind the sharp angles and lines of his helm, Tarn’s optics shutter. He laughs again and the holovid flickers as his form shifts, resettling.

[Doctor, no one told me you were so _witty_ ,] Tarn leans forward and his voice becomes sudden, sharp and, more importantly, _soft_ , [ _ **More’s the pity**_.]

Ratchet pitches forward, servos gripping the hub desperately as his frame constricts, all air abruptly pulled from his vents. He is vaguely aware of Raf calling his name in fear, small organic servos – hands – pressed against his. His audials are buzzing with light static and a series of error messages pop up on his HUD.

Just as abruptly as it began, it ends.

Slowly, so so slowly, Ratchet raises his helm to meet Tarn’s optics once more. There is no trace of amusement to be found in that sharp helm and Ratchet was foolish to think otherwise. A Decepticon hunting other Decepticons was _still_ a Decepticon. The DJD might be coming to take care of "traitors", but that didn't mean they wouldn't turn their sights on the Autobots - or the humans - immediately after.

[We’re coming for your esteemed _understudy_ , Knock Out, as well as Starscream and Soundwave,] Tarn’s helm turns to face someone off-screen and his voice once again lowers, but not dangerously, [Which I must confess, is _truly_ disappointing.]

Whoever Tarn is talking to replies in a low buzz that the holovid doesn’t pick up. Tarn chuckles and turns back to Ratchet. His helm tilts to the side, but his optics never stop boring into Ratchet’s.

[…The end of the month, Doctor.]

The feed cuts off.

* * *

Rafael breaks the stagnant silence first, clutching at Ratchet’s servos like a lifeline.

“Who the frag was _**that**_?” Bulkhead barks, and if Ratchet had the energy left in him, he’d probably jump at the sudden question, the sudden booming voice. As it is, he slumps further onto the control panel, taking care to mind Raf.

“That,” Ratchet manages, “was Tarn. Leader of the Decepticon Justice Division.”

“The _what_?” Miko chirps, throwing down her controller, “Since when do Cons do justice?”

Ratchet finally gathers his bearings and pulls himself up. He sends Rafael a smile, but knows that it probably came out a grimace. The boy sends back an equally worn expression.

“They’re fanatics of Megatron's polemic,” Ratchet explains wearily, “They’ve taken it upon themselves to discipline any and all Decepticons who defy the principles of the cause; defectors, prisoners of war, or anyone else who they think has done something wrong.”

“But,” Miko draws the word out until it’s five syllables long, “You said they go after Cons, right? So why are they calling _us_?”

Ratchet vents. Loudly. It helps, a little.

“Well for one, we’re the only ones with Cybertronian tech on this planet anymore. There’s no one else to call. And two, they’ll be here – on Earth – by the end of the month.”

“ _What_?” Miko and Bulkhead both yelp.

“They’re coming for Knock Out, Starscream and Soundwave. But… them being near Earth at all isn’t something I’m comfortable with in the least.”

“No kiddin’,” Bulkhead mutters and then, “Does Optimus know?”

“He does. But he’s as lost as I am for any kind of solution. Earth and its inhabitants are a vulnerability that we can’t afford and Tarn _knows_ it. We can either cooperate or somehow get rid of the DJD before they pillage the planet.”

* * *

When the wall of the containment chamber finally gives its last groan and slides open, Soundwave looks up.

“We need your help.”

 _Be forward_ , Optimus and Fowler had told him; Soundwave was hardly one to engage in threats or monologuing. _And_ , Agent Fowler added, _the sooner you ask, the sooner we get you out of there._

Pulling Soundwave from the shadow zone had been a trial in and of itself. Following all of Fowler’s paranoid suggestions for containment had been something else all together.

The EM dampening field arranged around Soundwave pulsates sharply when Soundwave makes to turn away from Ratchet, uninterested. The field is mostly experimental, but he hadn’t exactly had time for test runs. The four nodes are attuned to Soundwave’s personal frequency and – made of an amalgamate of Cybertronian theoretics, available Earth tech and Wheeljack’s grudging assistance – prevent incoming and outgoing transmissions while keeping a lid on Soundwave’s EM field, ready to manipulate the energy against him at the first sign of aggression.

Ratchet had also – per Agent Fowler’s “request” – disabled and removed a majority of Soundwave’s internal communications systems and weapon subroutines. And a majority of his motor functions. He’s still not sure how to feel about it.

“The DJD is on its way here. For you.”

Soundwave _stills_.

If Ratchet weren’t already aware of how terrifying the DJD could be, seeing Soundwave – always in control, practically the _poster mech_ for unaffected indifference – freeze so unnaturally, fine tremors the only movement in his frame, would be enough.

“… Soundwave: Acknowledges. Inquiry: Autobot compliance?”

Ratchet folds his arms and shifts on his pedes.

“We’re not sure… We can’t risk human casualties. But this war is _over_ and letting five- _**fanatics**_ torture you to death isn’t something I’m personally comfortable with.”

Soundwave’s helm dips in acquiesce.

“Inquiry: Other Decepticons on-planet?”

“Just Knock Out, but he comes and goes. Starscream is probably still around somewhere, but we haven’t been in contact with him.”

Soundwave’s helm – so similar to Tarn’s but somehow less intimidating now that Ratchet has faced them both – tilts.

“Autobot: Increasingly forthcoming.” 

Ratchet vents a sharp exhale, shoulder rising unconsciously; a bad habit picked up from the kids, Jack in particular.

“Like I said, the DJD coming _here_ is the last thing I need or want.”

Soundwave is silent for another moment before he leans forward, primly folding his servos atop his legs.

“Assistance: Needed. Soundwave: Will provide.”

Ratchet hikes a cranial ridge.

“I get the feeling that you’re volunteering more than yourself.”

“Affirmative.”

The other ridge joins the first.

“Care to elaborate on that?”

Soundwave sweeps an arm out in an all-encompassing gesure.

“Autobots: Cannot handle threat with current forces. Solution: Call in reinforcements. Soundwave: Can draw up list of suitable candidates.”

Ratchet takes a careful, measured step forward, staring hard at Soundwave’s helm and distantly wishing the mech’s optics were visible so Ratchet could claim the other was lying out his aft and crush the hope stupidly rising in his chassis.

“So what, you’re saying you’ve just conveniently could get into contact with Cybertronians capable of stopping the DJD? Name three.”

It’s a bluff; all Ratchet can do to stop from appealing to Optimus for Soundwave’s immediate release because they might have a shot at getting out of this no worse for wear.

“Decepticon Seeker, Designation Thundercracker. Autobot Spec Ops Agent, Designation Skids. Autobot Scientist, Designation Brainstorm.”

“Thundercracker’s _online_? Wait, you know where _**Skids**_ is?”

“Affirmative.”

That stupid hope is rearing its head again; as far as he knew, everyone thought Skids was _dead_. And Thundercracker had been labeled KIA for Primus knew how long, back during the third wave of Megatron's terraforming campaign. It was curious, Ratchet thought absently, that Thundercracker hadn’t yet been caught or hounded by the DJD, if he was in fact online.

He said as much to Soundwave.

“Thundercracker: Left for dead. Repaired by Autobot Medic, Designation First Aid.”

“ _First Aid_ patched him up? When in the Pit did _that_ happen?!”

Soundwave gives a turn of the helm that looks like a shrug.

“Information: Unknown.”

Ratchet pushes the thought of Starscream’s wayward trine-mate out of his processor and focuses on the issue at hand.

“Never mind that. Who else is on that list?”

“Autobot Spec Ops Agent, Designation Getaway. Unaffiliated Cybertronian, Designation Cyclonus. Decepticon Seeker, Designation Misfire. Former Decepticon Assassin, Designation Deadlo-”

Ratchet can hardly help the almost reflexive snort of derision, “ _That_ bolts-for-brains. He goes by Drift now.”

“… Autobot, Designation Drift. Additional 12 entries.”

Ratchet runs a hand over his face plate and vents a deep sigh. The hope’s been tempered by a cold dose of realism and the possible repercussions of openly defying the DJD – Autobots or not – are things he’s loathe to contemplate.

“Who’s the closest? Who has a reasonable chance of making it here before the DJD does in two and half weeks?”

There’s a silence as Soundwave runs through some calculations – the residual numbers of which flare briefly across the screen of his helm.

“Autobot Designation Skids; Decepticon Designation Thundercracker; Unaffiliated Cybertronian Designation Cyclonus; Autobot Designation Brainstorm. Estimated Windows Of Arrival: 6 to 8 Earth days.”

That was… doable. Hopeful, even. Skids wasn’t in Spec Ops just for show and his eidetic memory made him capable of mastering new skills _very_ quickly; Thundercracker had been the strongest of Starscream’s trine _without_ taking into account his Sonic Boom; Cyclonus was far from personable but his metallikato was _devastating_ on a battlefield and Brainstorm would be a priceless asset in fortifying what they could – weapons and mechs alike – before the DJD broke atmo.

That left only one rather pressing concern.

“I presume that you’ll need full access to all of your systems in order to pull this off?”

Fowler was probably going to pop a blood vessel.

“Affirmative... Addendum: Weapons and Full System Restoration required.”

Forget his vessels; at this rate Agent Fowler was going to have an _aneurysm_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Ratchet is probably the most likely to have encountered the DJD; he’s best characterized when he’s in full-on Doctor mode, and in TF Prime he’s canonically made deals with Starscream. In a lot of works – usually set towards the end of the war or after Megatron’s defeat, when there have been tremendous casualties and the species is on the brink of extinction – his duty and skills as a doctor are put before his duty as an Autobot. It’s not much of a stretch, imo, since the Autobots have taken POWs and as CMO, Ratchet was likely overseer of their health.
> 
> Anyway, point being, Ratchet has probably had the most contact with ex-Cons and POWs – it’s canon that the DJD goes after POWs (In MTMTE, Ratchet mentions that he’s had POWs beg him to kill them rather than let the DJD get them) – and thus probably knows the most about the DJD, its (current) members and what they look and sound like.


	2. First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long 150 vorns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is more an interlude than a proper chapter: first contact, so to speak.
> 
> if some parts of this don't make sense, have no fear! all changes to canon - minor and major - will be explained eventually.

Thundercracker is preparing to land on some barren terrestrial planet – he’d tried landing on a Jovian planet once and it had _not_ gone well – when an ‘URGENT INCOMING TRANSMISSION’ notification pops up on his HUD.

He’s been trawling about various star systems for Primus knows how many vorns, only peripherally keeping tabs on Starscream and Skywarp (Not that those slaggers _deserve_ it, but he’d always been the better trine-mate of the three, so it’s pretty par for course).

Point is, it’s been _eons_ since he’s gotten an incoming transmission. Longer still since an ‘urgent’ one.

The signal is Cybertronian, Decepticon. And considering that most Decepticons think he’s bitten the bullet for vorns now, there aren’t many Cybertronians it could be. Even fewer when he takes into account that he’s not exactly on... _speaking terms_ with the rest of his trine.

He opens the line.

[Soundwave. What can I do ya for?]

There’s the crackle of static - on any other mech, it'd be surprise - and then:

[Thundercracker: Assistance required.]

Thundercracker comes in low on the surface of the terran planet, bringing up a slaggin’ _huge_ dust storm. That’s gonna be a pain in the aft to clean out. He vents a sigh.

[You need _my_ help? For what? What the slag happened to the entire Decepticon army Megatron took with him?]

[Decepticon Army: Offline. Megatron: Presumed offline. Thundercracker: Online. Thundercracker: Assistance requested.]

Thundercracker takes note of that ‘requested’. That means Soundwave is actually _asking_. For his help. What in Primus’ name is going on?

[ _Megatron_ bit it? Soundwave, I’m flattered that you think I’d be any help against the ‘Bot who did _**that**_.]

Soundwave is quiet for moment, so quiet that Thundercracker absently checks the signal to make sure it’s still transmitting. He stretches into Root Mode, kicking up more dust. Slag it!

[Enemy: Not Autobot. Decepticon Justice Division.]

Thundercracker lets out a low whistle. The DJD were coming for _Soundwave_ , of all mechs?

[What the slag did you do to piss _them_ off?]

[Soundwave: Autobot Prisoner of War.]

Yeah, that’d do it.

Wait a fraggin’ minute-

[If the ‘Bots have you under lock and key, how the frag are you long-range commin’ me?]

[Autobots: Mutual Allies Against The DJD.]

‘Mutual Allies’? What in the Pit did that mean-

[Oooh No. _No_. **_NO_**. Are you _glitched_?!]

[Negative. Soundwave: Functioning within normal parameters.]

[Oh ha _ha_ , smart-aft! I was lucky not to have those sparkless glitches ridin’ my aft and now you want me to bring ‘em down on my _head_?!]

[Thundercracker: On par with Phase Sixers. Thundercracker: Assistance requested.]

[You can take your request and _shove it up your aft_!]

He cuts the call quickly. The echo of his voice hangs in the barren air, and another swirl of dust kicks up.

Soundwave’s obviously in need of some serious software patches if he thinks that Thundercracker is going to battle the DJD; it was only by the plating of his denta that those glitches weren’t already after him. And teaming up with the Autobots to do it? Soundwave _had_ to be desperate.

Thundercracker pulls up the transmission data, inadvertently opening his call log as well.

 _Well, I was right_ , he thinks numbly. Soundwave’s been his first call – his only call – in near 150 vorns. 

He hasn’t talked to any other mech – Autobot or Decepticon – since the whole… thing with Skywarp.

... It’s been a long 150 vorns.

Thundercracker vents a sigh and begins to backtrack the signal.

* * *

The incoming comm signal is a surprise, and the ID of the caller an even bigger one, but Brainstorm lets it connect anyways, not even pausing in his soldering.

[I want my own lab.]

[… Brainstorm?]

[Fully equipped, to the best of your capabilities. I’ll need a lot of space.]

[Brainstorm, it’s-]

[What do you take me for, a sparkling? While it’s an easy feat to read incoming signal IDs, I _am_ also capable of identifying mechs by voice. I’ll need cold storage as well. And large quantities of Iridium.]

[Look, we need your help here-]

Brainstorm vents an annoyed exhale and sets his soldering gun to the side. The soft clack is surprisingly loud in the sudden silence.

[I’m not _Perceptor_ ; I _can_ deduce things without needing to brag about it. I’m already patching up a ship, and can be breaking atmo in under a mega-cycle. Don’t you have other mechs you need to be calling?]

There’s a stunned, disbelieving silence for one klik, and then two. Brainstorm disconnects the call and picks up his soldering gun again.

 _Honestly_.

* * *

His HUD chirps, a sudden cheery noise in a stifling silence.

He stares down the mechs before him – defiant sets to their jaws as though they aren’t leaking out – before taking a few steps away in some semblance of privacy.

Instead of a short range comm signal or incoming transmission notification, like he was expecting, there’s a large data pack waiting for permission to download. He pulls up the sender information and can’t stop the quick up-tic of a cranial ridge. He gives his permission, opening files as they download.

The second ridge joins the first.

He absently begins to compose a response as he turns back to the beaten mechs. They scowl at him, but can’t hide the flashes of fear in their optics.

How very droll.

He takes two steps back, catching and holding optics with the ringleader of their merry little band.

Shifting on his pedes, he charges at them, releasing his blaster with a sharp twist of the wrist. Two of them scream. One gives an aborted jerk of alarm. The ringleader’s vocalizer fritzes as his helm slams backwards into a wall. Astroseconds from impact, he pushes off the ground and slips seamlessly into his alt mode.

And if the sudden ignition of his engines leaves them with burns and damaged audials, well, who’s to know?

* * *

[INCOMING DATA PACKET, SOURCE ID: 800032956. ALLOW INCOMING DATA PACKET TO DOWNLOAD? Y/N]

[/Y]

[ALLOW FILES TO ACCESS PROCESSOR AND HARD DRIVE? Y/N]

[/Y]

“Line it up. Wind’s North-Northwest, 15 mechanometers per cycle. Target’s confirmed 3 vuns off, heading east.”

[FILES DOWNLOADING… 35%... 59%... 87% COMPLETE]

[FILE DOWNLOAD COMPLETE]

“Primary target is now stationary. On my mark.”

[/OPEN FILE: COORDINATES.CXX]

[179° 56′ 39.4″, +0° 2′ 46.2″]

“Take it.”

[SET DESTINATION?]

“… Good shot. I’m calling it in.”

[/Y]

[DESTINATION SET. ESTIMATED TIME OF ARRIVAL: 5 ORBITAL CYCLES]

“Mission complete.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For future reference, the units of time and length that I'll be using:
> 
>  **IDW units of time**  
>  astrosecond - .498 seconds  
> breem – 8.3 minutes  
> cycle – 1.25 hours  
> deca-cycle – ≈3 weeks  
> joor – idiomatic hour  
> klik – 1.2 minutes  
> mega-cycle – 93 hours  
> meta-cycle – 13 months  
> orbital cycle - ≈1 day  
> stellar cycle - ≈7.5 month  
> vorn – 83 years
> 
>  **Units of Length**  
>  Klik* – 1 kilometer  
> *Context provides the difference between the unit of time and the unit of length  
> Mechanometer – 1 meter  
> Vun – 1 hectometer (1 hectometer = 100 meters)


	3. This Calamitous Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus’s battle mask snaps over his face, and he says to them:
> 
> “For now, let us rest. We have many long days ahead.”

Ratchet realizes, of course, that he all but asked for this. He had gone to Soundwave feeling resigned and bitter, but left that containment chamber with a sense of burgeoning hope; they had a chance at surviving this. Winning, even.

But Ratchet had forgotten how _tiring_ Brainstorm can be.

The mech is brilliant, if unconventional, and Ratchet sees no issue in giving praise where it’s due. But Brainstorm is nearly as bad as Wheeljack, with how frequently things explode or melt or combust whenever he’s “tinkering”. The humans have already learned to give the makeshift “lab” wide berth.

Cyclonus should be arriving soon, and Skids not long thereafter. Thundercracker had hung up on Soundwave before the coordinates were sent, but Soundwave assures Ratchet that the seeker is going to show. They can only wait.

And, with Brainstorm’s presence, _hide_.

“Ah, Ratchet. There you are.”

Speak of the slagger and he shall appear.

Ratchet vents a sigh, and turns from the communications hub where he’d been tracking Cyclonus’ freely-given coordinates, and immediately stops short.

“What in the Pit happened to you?!”

Brainstorm shrugs, as though parts of his armor aren’t _eroding by the second_.

“There was a bit of a spill. And I don’t exactly have a chemical shower.”

Ratchet begins to herd Brainstorm to the medbay, pushing none-too-gently in his rising irritation.

“Come here, _come **here**_. Primus, I don’t know how you manage these things.”

Brainstorm settles himself on the med berth, seemingly uncaring of the small pieces of his chassis that clutter to the ground. There is a soft, faint hissing. Whatever corrosive was spilled, Ratchet assumes.

Brainstorm offers up arm and servo for inspection without complaint or hesitation. That’s something, Ratchet supposes. Barely.

He’s preparing to hook Brainstorm up to an impressed current in hopes of slowing the corrosion when the communications hub sounds off in a series of high-pitched, rapid beeps.

“If you move, I _will_ strap you down,” Ratchet warns, jabbing a servo in Brainstorm’s direction.

“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” Brainstorm admits, using glyphs for intrigue and curiousity.

Ratchet is too old for this slag.

“ _Do. **Not**. Move_ ,” he reiterates, making his way to the comm. There are two active notifications; one informing him of Cyclonus preparing to break atmo in a breem, and the other is an incoming transmission from Knock Out.

[Where the slag have you been?] Ratchet demands before the erstwhile ex-‘Con can get a word in edgewise.

[Well, hello to you too, _Doctore_. I wasn’t aware that my presence was required.]

Ratchet can make out the din of traffic. At least the glitch is still on planet.

[Cut the slag, Knock Out. I told you to stay in contact for a reason; the DJD is one the way here. For you, among others.]

There’s the sound of squealing tires, and blaring horns. Knock Out lets out an impressive string of Cybertronian curses.

[ ** _What?!_** ]

Ratchet can’t help the smirk that finds its way to his face, [Luckily for us, Soundwave is far more useful. We’ve got backup on the way.]

[Ugh, dare I ask? More Autobots, I presume?] The dry tone has returned to Knock Out’s voice and Ratchet lets him have it.

[A few of your ilk as well. Cyclonus, for one. Thundercracker, if Soundwave’s right.]

A low whistle, [My my, you _have_ been busy.]

[Exactly. So get your aft back on base. I’m giving you five cycles.]

Knock Out vents a dramatic sigh, the exhale of it crackling over the line, [Your wish is my command, _Doctore_.]

Ratchet disconnects the call with a roll of his optics – a gesture he’d picked up from Miko, of all people.

“So, that was the illusive Knock Out?”

Ratchet whirls on one pede, accusatory finger already up, “I told you not to move.”

Brainstorm makes an unrepentant sound, stepping closer to the hub.

“And _Cyclonus_ is nearly here? I don’t think I ever asked how the whole idea for this dream team of ours got started.”

Ratchet shoves at Brainstorm’s shoulder – forcefully, until he starts moving back towards the med bay – before he says:

“Soundwave. He has files on who knows how many Cybertronians; Primus knows why you all actually agreed.”

Brainstorm – clearly taking a page out of Knock Out’s book, and Primus help him when the two actually _meet_ – answers him with a series of amused chirps and a sultry, “Oh, but Ratchet, how could I _resist_ the idea of coming to your rescue?"

“Sit. _Down_.”

* * *

“Whoa, Ratch, he’s _really_ pointy.”

Cyclonus ignores the curious, roving eyes of the human – Miko, Ratchet had called her in sharp reprimand – and steps forward. Ratchet dips his helm in a distant greeting.

“Thank you for coming.”

“I admit,” Cyclonus begins, “I had not been expecting a missive from Soundwave, and especially not one encrypted by _you_.”

Ratchet frowns – it seems to be his default expression – and turns his helm, eyes falling away from Cyclonus.

“I’m not proud that we’ve dragged other mechs into this mess. But I _do_ know that allowing the DJD free reign to Earth is one of the worst possible things that could happen.”

Cyclonus takes in the medic’s defensive posture, the conflicting waves of his EM field. It’s probably the closest thing to an apology that he’s ever received. Cyclonus won’t do him the disservice of drawing attention to it; he inclines his helm, horns angled away, as a gesture of gratitude.

“I will do all I can to assist you.”

* * *

Thundercracker breaks the thermosphere of the terran planet – Earth, which is pretty dull, as far as names go – hard and fast. A couple warnings pop up on his HUD, but he dismisses them almost immediately. 

Soundwave hadn’t mentioned anything about time constraints – or rather, Thundercracker had ended the transmission before much could be said – but it’s been a little over seven orbital cycles and he’d feel like a complete glitch if Soundwave got offlined because Thundercracker was too busy throwing a temper tantrum on an uninhabited planet like a sparkling.

They’re hardly more than acquaintances, but Primus… it has been a long 150 vorns. At this point, acquaintances are higher up on the list than trinemates. 

Another notification pops up on his HUD; this time, a locator ping from an unspecified Autobot signal. He lets it through his firewalls, pinging back his ID.

Almost immediately, an incoming transmission notification – from the same ‘Bot signal, he notes – blinks into existence.

[So, you decided to show up.] The voice is vaguely familiar, even distorted and elongated by the static of the call. The Medic, probably.

[Yeah,] He murmurs noncommittally, adjusting his wings flaps as he passes from mesosphere to stratosphere, [Where the frag is your base on this mudball?]

The medic – Ratchet, he’s pretty sure – gives a short bark of laughter, a low and rough, organic sound.

[You broke atmo in the _wrong hemisphere_ , you glitch.]

[How the slag was I supposed to know?] Thundercracker gripes. The medic’s not half-bad for an Autobot Officer; they fall easily into a back-and-forth of dry humor and insults as Thundercracker cranks up his thrusters.

[Head east by southeast and your internal GPS should set you straight.] Ratchet advises (rudely, over Thundercracker’s perfectly valid point that all the landmasses look the _exact same_ ).

[Yeah, yeah. You can tell Soundwave his mech in shining armor is here.]

Ratchet snorts, [Join the queue, loverbot. You’re hardly the first one here… the fifth, actually.]

[I’m the _**what?!**_ ]

* * *

It’s not the most unusual situation that Skids has ever been in, but it’s definitely up there.

There’s Brainstorm, who Skids only knows by word of mouth and Perceptor’s rants on ethical science. His armor is scarred along the chassis and mask, and he spends the entire meeting tinkering with something on a workbench set against a wall. Next to him is Knock Out, who’s apparently an Autobot now, looking equally uninvolved with the proceedings. Once or twice, Knock Out murmurs something and Brainstorm’s helm tilts – Skids assumes he’s replying from behind the mask – and he passes Knock Out something from his subspace. He gets the feeling - mostly from the frantic looks on the others' faces - that the two of them not only meeting, but _getting along_ , could probably strike fear into the hearts of the DJD alone.

Ratchet, Skids has met a few times. Planning heists and desecrating public property together tended to leave a lasting impression. The medic is as surly as anything, scowling the whole time but never sounding anything less than grateful. It’s the sort of contradiction that Skids feels is better left untouched.

Cyclonus is a surprise. He stands back from the rest of them, arms crossed over chassis and the sharp angles of his face making him seem severe and discontent. He can practically _hear_ Getaway's whispered _"bomp"_ and idle correction of, “More discontent. He looks _more_ discontent.”

They spend a lot of time in each other’s heads, in Spec Ops.

(Getaway had elected to stay behind to report in to Prowl, and while his subprocessors seem to be doing a great job of mimicking his presence, Skids can't help but spare the brief hope that Getaway will look after Tumbler until this whole thing is done and dealt with).

If Cyclonus is a surprise, then Thundercracker is like a blaster gun to the temple. He arrives in a flurry of dust, marches past all of them without so much as a glance, right up to Soundwave and shouts, “I can’t believe you called _other mechs_!”

Soundwave’s presence is as unexpected as everything else. He’s sitting near Ratchet, and Skids is at least 85% sure that he’s being restrained in some manner. There’s no sight of his symbiotes.

Ratchet makes a noise that might be a stifled laugh. Soundwave’s helm tilts to the side and, at length, he replies, “Soundwave: Called Thundercracker first.”

All the fight seems to fall right out of Thundercracker’s wings and he mutters something that ends, “-too many fraggin’ vorns out there.”

There are other Autobots present as well. If he’s remembering correctly, that’s Bulkhead and Bumblebee opposite of Cyclonus, and Arcee - one of her, at least - prowling near Knock Out and Brainstorm.

Optimus Prime – standing at the front of the room, near the communications hub, as he had been the entire time – makes a soft noise in his vocalizer. Every optic in the room sets their attentions upon him. He doesn’t disapooint.

“I thank all of you for making it here. As you are all aware, the Decepticon Justice Division is currently en route. While they are only here for Soundwave, Knock Out and Starscream, I believe that we can all agree that allowing the DJD to reach Earth would be beneficial to none.”

Thundercracker’s wings, Skids notes peripherally, are very, _very_ tense.

“All of you have something to contribute to our effort in deflecting the DJD’s attentions, whether it be technology or fighting prowess,” Optimus continues, “At this point, factions hold little meaning in the face of such danger…”

And then, almost sadly, “Factions have not _meant_ much in a long while, I am afraid. They have only served to further divide us. Know that in fighting here, you need not fear from us. My team has already made the decision to make Earth a permanent base for as long as we are able, and the invitation to stay is open to all of you. However, should you so desire it, you may leave as you arrived; freely and unpursued.”

Optimus’s battle mask snaps over his face, and he says to them,

“For now, let us rest. We have many long days ahead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the team's all assembled for now! next up, the DJD makes their grand entrance!'
> 
> 30.5.14 EDIT: I took out Getaway because I'd honestly forgotten about him (and once or twice mixed him and Brainstorm up). Skids still mentions him but he's no longer physically present.


	4. The Gloaming Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet can’t tear his optics from Knock Out’s badge, torn from his chassis, slammed into the table and left there, edges crumpled.
> 
> The sight of that torn metal, twisted so, sits forebodingly in his processor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took longer to crank out than I meant
> 
> I'll try to get part II out in between all these _lovely_ research papers

“Where is he?”

To his credit, Soundwave doesn’t try to play stupid.

“Starscream: Location unknown.”

“I find it really hard to believe that you don’t know.”

Soundwave’s helm tilts, visor gleaming in the stark artificial lighting of the Autobot base.

“Soundwave: Not at full capacity. Intel: Insufficient.”

Thundercracker forces the tension from his wings; lets all his weight drop to his pedes. He hasn’t seen or heard wing nor optic of ‘Screamer since before Skywarp left him for dead and the thought of meeting here, on this mudball, sends his internals churning with anxiety.

“Why the frag didn’t you mention it from the start?”

“Calculated probability of Thundercracker assisting Soundwave: 82.35%. Calculated probability of Thundercracker assisting Starscream: 80.01%.”

“Frag off, I wouldn’t chose _you_ over my trinemate!”

“Thundercracker: Does not wish to confront Starscream. Soundwave: Not Starscream.”

The glare Thundercracker shoots Soundwave is pure vitriol, “Ha _ha_ , afthole.”

The thing is, though, Soundwave is right. Of course, he’s right, the smug afthole. With one trinemate flitting around Megatron in hopes of throwing a coup d’état and the other having left him for scrap, he hasn’t had much company by way of meaningful connection. Soundwave, loathe as Thundercracker might be to acknowledge it, has jumped to the top of his admittedly short list of “Mechs I Still Talk To”.

It would certainly explain the way he’s been playing possessive trinemate since he broke atmo of this miserable little planet; no other contenders.

Except that’s not quite true, because now… now he knows, Starscream is out there. Starscream had to have been alerted to their proximity. And yet…

He pushes the thought, the absence, away, and turns back to Soundwave. Who, apparently, had been watching his little mental turmoil with no shortage of amusement, according to his EM field.

“What,” Thundercracker snaps, “Got somethin’ to say?”

“Negative,” Soundwave intones. The shadow of movement slides within his chassis. Ravage, maybe. Or one of twins, “Thundercracker: Low on Energon. Recharge needed.”

Thundercracker snorts, flapping a dismissive servo, “Didn’t know you were the type to nag, Soundwave," and then, before the other mech can say anything else, "I'm goin', I’m goin’.”

He’ll find ‘Screamer tomorrow.

* * *

As it turns out, he doesn’t have to (doesn’t get to) wait that long.

Starscream finds him.

* * *

Starscream says, “Thundercracker,” slowly and carefully, like he doesn’t know what to do with the word. He says it with a little sneer, but that, Thundercracker can ignore because he’s honestly convinced that Starscream is incapable of speaking without sneering at least once.

Thundercracker smirks in return, but it’s an empty gesture.

“’Screamer,” he pauses, haltingly continues, “You’re not lookin’ too hot.”

Starscream hums in agreement, running disdainful optics and servos over his own dulled paint job and chipping armor as though on display, “Yes, the fugitive lifestyle does not seem to be agreeing with me.”

Awkward, still silence. It shouldn’t be, because they’re a trine – or two-thirds of one at any rate – and they exist on a wavelength all their own. But Starscream is affecting that distant politeness that he used to rankle mechs in the Academy - like they're _strangers_ \- and there’s a great hollow buzzing where Skywarp should be - like they don't _matter_.

“Have you heard from Skywarp?” Starscream asks eventually, and Thundercracker is so fraggin’ glad that they’re even talking that he makes himself ignore that Starscream hasn’t even asked about him. Him, who’s _here_. Anyway.

“I, uh… we’re not exactly… talkin’,” it comes out a lot more muttered and evasive than he meant it to, and Starscream’s remote civility collapses into predatory curiosity.

“Yeah,” Thundercracker gives a humorless chuckle in answer to an silent question, aware that Starscream is cataloging his every word and expression, “Haven’t seen him for a couple hundred vorns, give or take a stellar cycle.”

Starscream’s disapproval flays him in the ensuing silence.

“The two of you were supposed to be terraforming together. You left him _alone_?”

That more than rankles. He can feel the question sitting sharp and dangerous in his processor, feeling half a step from detonation. Thundercracker finds himself lurching forward, wings hiked aggressively, servo jabbing into Starscream’s chassis.

“Frag you, _he_ left _me_. For **dead**. With a hole in my helm and my wings slagged to the Pit.”

Starscream rears in surprise, wingtips flexing. A conjectural pause, and then, “What did you _do_ , Thundercracker?”

As Thundercracker snarls and spits (“For the love of Primus, frag off! How did this become _my_ fault?”) and Starscream sneers in cool condescension (“Well, Skywarp is hardly the type to shoot a mech on a lark,” which is the biggest load of crock Starscream has ever uttered, because that’s _**exactly**_ the type of mech that Skywarp is), all Thundercracker can do is remember that Skywarp was always the arbiter.

Skywarp was always the one to translate Starscream’s impatient acrimony and Thundercracker’s disinterested lassitude into neutral, safe grounds for communication.

Back in the early days of the war, when their bond was still a new and tender thing, it had been Skywarp - not as aloof as Thundercracker nor as ambitious as Starscream – who has pulled them all along into a functioning, respectable trine.

But that was eons ago, and Skywarp is not here.

And without him, their broken edges are all too easily seen.

* * *

“What do we know about the DJD?” Knock Out asks, not for the first time, claws tapping a staccato rhythm on the metal table.

“Mostly word of mouth,” Ratchet sighs, “Designations, a bit about their skills, but nothing concrete.”

“Are any of their alt-forms flight compatible?” Cyclonus asks.

Thundercracker smirks, “Nah, they’re all groundpounders, I’m pretty sure. Tarn’s a tank and Kaon’s a chair or something.”

“Tesarus and Helex are some kind of heavy machinery,” Bumblebee adds, and then, “I don’t think Vos has an alt-form?”

“I’ve heard a lot about Tarn being the one to finish mechs off,” Ratchet mutters, searching his processor for any mention of the DJD in recent memory, “But his methods seem to vary by account, obviously all secondhand conjecture.”

Optimus, at the workbench with Skids and Bulkhead, solemnly replies, “At the very least, we know that he can certainly cause harm with his voice alone,” and Ratchet’s frame tenses at the reminder, the phantom memory of his systems locking up against his will.

“We have the advantage of flight, then,” Skids says - diplomatically ignoring Thundercracker’s sarcastic “We?” – and entering something quickly into a datapad, “We might be able to take the Peaceful Tyranny out of the sky, maybe before it hits the stratosphere.”

“If we do,” Brainstorm breaks in, a soldering gun in one servo and some unidentified metal compound in the other, “And this is a big _if_ , we’d need a way of controlling where the ship falls. We do that, and I can probably come up with a way to neutralize the five of them.”

Knock Out’s tapping becomes more pronounced, “This is all very _nice_ , but what exactly would we do with five neutralized Decepticon _psychopaths?_ ” With no answer immediately forthcoming, he continues, “It’s not like we can keep them here indefinitely, and if they ever broke free it would be just as bad, if not worse. And well, this might just be me, but the five of them don't strike me as the type to be _reformed_.”

“What do you suggest?” Cyclonus drawls.

“We need to deal with them. Permanently.”

Knock Out ignores the immediate indignant refusals from Bumblebee and Bulkhead, optics focused coolly on Optimus. The Prime does not answer.

“Oh _please_ ,” Knock Out spits into the tense silence, face twisted up in a sneer, “The way I’ve seen you all drop drones without batting an eye, the way you nearly did _me_ in, and **_now_** you want to play coy?”

“That was wartime!” Bumblebee warbles defensively, doors hiked up like wings.

“Wartime? This war isn’t _over_ , you miserable little insect! This war will **never** be over! We’ve spent the last four epochs trying to wipe each other out of existence! Megatron might be dead – and thank Primus for that – but so long as Cybertronians can’t see past these _fucking_ symbols, we’ll be extinct by the turn of the millennium," he stands, before visibly calming himself and sneering sarcastically, "Let me know when you figure something out.”

Then he is gone.

There is a long stretch of silence in the wake of Knock Out’s departure, his words. Ratchet can’t tear his optics from Knock Out’s badge, torn from his chassis, slammed into the table and left there, metal edges crumpled.

The sight of that torn metal, twisted so, sits forebodingly in his processor, like a warning.

* * *

The Peaceful Tyranny breaks atmo that Tuesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the sake of my divergent timeline, Skywarp and Thundercracker have their disagreement fairly early on in the war, on some _other_ terrestrial planet with organic based life forms, and first aid is the one to patch him up instead of ratchet
> 
> also, I’m sorry if any of you were hoping for an easy reconciliation between Starscream and Thundercracker, but i honestly don’t think it’s something that can just be solved like that.
> 
> for one, Starscream and Skywarp are way more dedicated to the Decepticon cause than Thundercracker will ever be (or at least, way more willing to do whatever deed in the name of decepticonism), and that’s pretty much the root of their dissonance. I mean, Skywarp shot Thundercracker and left him for dead because Thundercracker wasn't 100% down with the mindless destruction and chaos that decepticonism had become (and his unbelief in the cause was something he’d made perfectly clear from the jump, so it still bothers me that Skywarp tried to kill Thundercracker for _being in character_ , but I digress).
> 
> In essence, Thundercracker is a Decepticon - like first wave, original anti-functionalist polemic deception - because there was no such thing as neutrality (here I pause to disdainfully consider the NAILs) and he would never in a million vorns be an Autobot, out of principle.


	5. The Gloaming Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarn shifts forward, helm glinting dangerously. [I’m afraid that we do. It saddens me that it has come to this, Doctor. For your sake, at least make this _interesting_.]
> 
> They stare at each other for a long moment, the holo-vid occasionally flickering with static.
> 
> “Don’t you worry,” Ratchet murmurs at long last, optics narrowed, “about things being kept _interesting_.”
> 
> Tarn laughs – a sound that still sends reflexive tremors through Ratchet’s frame – and ends with, [I _will_ miss these little repartees, Doctor.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm actually pretty proud of how certain events of this chapter play out. one more to go!

Tarn hails the communications hub just as the Peaceful Tyranny breaches Earth’s orbit.

[I do hope you won’t make this difficult,] he says, the screen of the holo-vid so dark that all they can see are his red, red optics and the gleam of light on the deadly edges of his helm, [I see you have brought reinforcements but I _truly_ hope you reconsider.]

“You don’t have to do this,” Ratchet implores, and from behind him Skids makes a noise of agreement, “Please.”

Tarn shifts forward, helm glinting dangerously. [I’m afraid that we do. It saddens me that it has come to this, Doctor. For your sake, at least make this _interesting_.]

They stare at each other for a long moment, the holo-vid occasionally flickering with static.

“Don’t you worry,” Ratchet murmurs at long last, optics narrowed, “about things being kept _interesting_.”

Tarn laughs – a sound that still sends reflexive tremors through Ratchet’s frame – and ends with, [I _will_ miss these little repartees, Doctor.]

The screen goes dark.

* * *

They're expecting the Peaceful Tyranny. The warp drive? Not so much.

In their defense, Skids muses as they all hasten to throw themselves backwards, warp drives aren’t _meant_ to be used within a planet’s atmosphere. Something about gravitational pulls and potential black hole creation.

It doesn’t change the fact that the Peaceful Tyranny suddenly _looms_ above them, sharp edged and engines screaming. And Skids knows they’re out of luck; Brainstorm’s—well, whatever they are, they take a few kliks to properly charge.

The bay door of the Tyranny creaks open and slams forcefully into the earth. Into Earth.

Call Skids a cynic, but he _highly_ doubts they’ll have a few kliks.

* * *

When the dust and hissing and creaking finally stops, not much is visible from the gaping, open mouth of the Tyranny.

Bulkhead makes a low, satisfied noise in his throat, “I bet they’re as mixed up as we are. There’s a reason you’re not supposed to-”

Blaster fire – concentrated, red – speeds from the mouth and slams into Bulkhead’s chassis, tossing him backwards.

“Bulkhead!” Arcee calls. She and Bee are at his side in moments.

From the Tyranny, the sound of pedes on metal. Footfalls, drawing closer.

“Do forgive my late entrance,” Tarn says calmly, blaster gun – clearly not his, what with that double fusion canon strapped to his arm – still held aloft, “Now, I believe you have something-”

He doesn’t get to finish. A noise like his namesake and Thundercracker is slamming into the other Decepticon, metal on metal crunching as Thundercracker _slams_ Tarn from the ship's door and both of them go spiraling skyward.

“What-” Tarn chokes in surprise, and then, “Oh this is _so_ disappointing. Aiding the Autobots? Disparaging Lord Megatron's cause? I had thought more of you, Thundercracker.”

If the slagger’s still talking, he must be doing something wrong. He activates his PCR again, audials humming in the wake of the sonic booms. It’s been a while since he’s had to use it for anything other than escaping.

He releases another boom, driving as much of his weight into Tarn’s chassis as he can, sending sparks of lightning crackling around them both.

“I loathe,” Tarn gasps three hits later, still sounding far too composed for someone being ping-ponged around an atmosphere, “being disappointed.”

And then he interlaces his servos and slams his fists right into Thundercracker’s chassis.

It doesn’t register, at first. His audials are still buzzing from the last shockwave. And really, it _shouldn’t_ hurt; this is Thundercracker’s turf. Tarn shouldn’t have any sort of advantage up here, wingless as he is.

But then the error messages start popping up on his HUD; the fractures in his chassis, the force of the blow having unbalanced his right engine, the _arrhythmia_ of his spark-

They’re starting to fall now, Tarn’s knees jabbing unforgivingly into Thundercracker’s legs as he straddles the seeker and calmly wraps his servos around the thick cables of Thundercracker's neck. Not choking, but pulling, like he's going to take Thundercracker's entire helm off. After that one hit, Thundercracker is starting to think maybe he is. Distantly, Thundercracker wonders where the _frag_ Starscream and Cyclonus are. Starscream, who’s supposed to be providing aerial assistance, the only one who can, as Soundwave is on standby with Rachet.

“I’m going to kill you,” Tarn tells him, voice hard enough to be heard over the whistle of their descent, “And then I am going to raze this planet for harboring your treacherous hides.”

Thundercracker’s audials starts to buzz again. Maybe his processor is going to crash. He can hardly breathe, between the weight of Tarn's servos clamped around his throat, their combined weight accelerating their fall and the fine cracks running through his frame from that one punch.

Right; hadn’t someone mentioned something about Phase Sixers? No fraggin’ wonder.

The buzzing gets louder – more of a hum now, one that sits right in his denta and rattles him whole.

Wait-

The humming is so loud that even Tarn seems to have taken notice of it, but too late.

A pede materializes first, in the slip of space between them, and slams right into the underside of Tarn’s jaw, the force of it sending him spiraling through the air with a screech of metal on metal. Servos – familiar, so _so_ familiar – grip him by the chassis and tug him close, holding him aloft.

“Heya TC,” Skywarp grins, even as behind them Starscream and Cyclonus lower Tarn’s stunned form between the two of them, “Need a lift?”

* * *

When Thundercracker gives the cue – although it would’ve been nice if he had mentioned that his “cue” was going to be breaking the sound barrier and _tackling_ the leader of the DJD back into the stratosphere—Primus, were _all_ Seekers this glitched? – Optimus strides forward, leading the charge.

Another mech – big, bigger than Tarn, bigger than Optimus – comes hurtling out the Peaceful Tyranny. He ignores them and their drawn weapons, instead looking skyward for Tarn.

“Slag,” he says eventually, apparently being able to see something past the clouds that the rest of them can’t. He looks back down at them, one set of arms crossed over his chassis, the other planted on his hips.

“Tesarus,” the mech calls, still staring them down, “Come on out. Tarn’s busy.”

Distantly, another sonic boom cracks the air from above them accompanied by the equally faint sound of impacting metal. That was “busy”?

The Tyranny actually _groans_ when the second mech disembarks. He’s _enormous_. And his chest seems to be a giant shredding device, which isn’t ominous at _all_.

The two sides stare at each other for a moment, two gargantuan mechs and the six of them, Optimus at the lead and barely passing the biggest mech’s pelvis.

Right.

Brainstorm pulls the pin from his Special Delivery – nothing special for a homemade EMP hand grenade, a few tweaked wires here, a bit of shrapnel there – and, without further fanfare, chucks it into the gaping chest cavity of Tesarus.

“Heads up.”

* * *

The communications hub is a cacophony of warning beeps and bellows. Too many different protocol broken at once for Ratchet to even begin to make heads of tails of it. And no wonder, considering those processor glitched _morons_ engaged their warp drive shortly after entering the atmosphere.

He and Soundwave are supposed to be on standby – for what, he hasn’t the slightest clue. Hopefully, not the broken bodies of his comrades. His allies. His friends. He can’t help but worry; as stupid as engaging their warp drive was, it allowed Tarn and the others to take them by surprise; Brainstorm’s… whatever they are, are probably out of the equation.

Over the comms – Ratchet fitted everyone with one and demanded that the lines be kept open so he would at least have some clue of what was happening – there’s a crack and then shrieking feedback.

“An EMP? Slag,” Ratchet mutters.

“Negative,” Soundwave informs him, helm turned towards the hub and arms crossed casually, “Thundercracker.”

“His Sonic Boom?” Ratchet is only half aware of replying. He knows about Thundercracker’s Sonic Boom, has heard rumor after rumor about it, but he doesn’t actually know what it _does_.

“Affirmative,” Soundwave says, “Sonic Booms: Not Unlike Warp Drive Technology.”

The cracks grow fainter and fainter over the comm line, and Ratchet assumes that Thundercracker has taken his skirmish with Tarn into the air. It makes sense, as – thankfully – none of the DJD can fly.

The minutes pass idly, uncaring of Ratchet’s mounting distress. He should be doing something – _anything_ – instead of just sitting around on his aft waiting for some unknown—

There is a loud boom, deep and unrestrained.

“That,” Ratchet says grimly, “did not sound like Thundercracker.”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave replies.

“What the slag was it, then?”

Soundwave doesn’t respond for a long moment, and then he begins abruptly, “Inquiry: Effects of Engaging Warp Drive Within Planet’s Atmosphere?”

“There are almost too many to count!” Ratchet flings a hand into the air, servos gesturing irately, “Engine failure; possible spark arrhythmia and spark failure in the passengers, especially if they’re cold constructed, not to mention possible matter transference between the drive’s engine and anything unfortunate enough to be near it when it engages. It could send a planet out of its normal orbit, if the ship’s big enough or the ship can wind up _inside_ the planet if it’s not! It’s pretty much the only thing they tell you not to do with a warp drive! ‘Don’t warp planet-side or you’ll cause a black hole-'”

Soundwave says nothing. But he does incline his helm.

“Oh. _Oh_.”

“Affirmative.”

Ratchet spins on one pede, scrambling madly for the open comm link, “We have to get them out of there!”

“Negative.”

He spins again. Jabs a servo into Soundwave’s chassis.

“Explain. **Now**.”

“Soundwave: Still commands Decepticon Space and Ground Bridges.”

Ratchet can feel his optics widen, knows he must look a damned fool.

Soundwave, thankfully, does not remark upon it. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe, hard to swallow. Ratchet runs a laden glossa over dry denta. He’s condemning 5 mechs to—to something, something horrible. He’s saving his friends, his allies, his planet.

He hasn't made it to 9 million years by being soft-hearted.

“Do it.”

Soundwave holds his gaze – at least, Ratchet can only assume, with the other mech’s helm held pointedly facing him – for a long moment, as though gauging Ratchet’s conviction, before turning back to the hub.

“Affirmative.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PCR stands for Power Chip Rectifier, which are the chips that give select Cybertronians abilities not found in others (ie, Thundercracker’s Sonic Boom, Skywarp’s teleporting ability, Reflector’s uhm… reflections, Trailbreaker’s force fields, etc etc)


	6. Life After The Big Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dust settles, they all take collective shuddering breaths, and all is silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note the dubious science and weird science tags, I AM NOT A SCIENTIST, this is probably entirely scientifically inaccurate

The big one – Tesarus, wasn’t it? – is still screaming, Cyclonus notes. Tarn is heavy even between Starscream and himself, but the mech is thankfully still offline.

Frankly, the explosion hadn’t even been that big, Cyclonus thinks sourly, watching as Tesarus writhes on the ground, Helex hovering on the defensive. Then again, no one knows what in Primus’ name Brainstorm put in those things. Only that he had easily assured them that it would bring down the DJD. Collectively. Actually—

“Yeah,” Brainstorm says in response to an unvoiced question, and perhaps Knock Out’s muttering about telepathy weren’t that far off base, “It was meant for all five of them at once, so he’s probably feeling four times worse than he would otherwise. Like, rounding down.”

Brainstorm, Cyclonus notes to himself for future reference, is terrifying.

“There are still two more,” he remarks aloud, as he and Starscream lower Tarn to the ground. None too gently.

Arcee and Bumblebee exchange looks with Prime, and then at his permissive nod, make their way aboard the Tyranny, Skids pulling up the rear.

“What have you done to him?” Knock Out asks of Brainstorm, watching Tesarus in surprise, or perhaps horror. Always hard to read, that one.

“Well,” Brainstorm begins casually, crossing his arms over his chassis, “A little bit of chemically induced spark arrhythmia, some reworked circuit boosters to amp up all his receptors aaaand a virus that corrupts and disengages all manual override protocols in the processor.”

“Terrifying” doesn’t even begin to cover it. Even Prime is staring at Brainstorm with something akin to wariness.

“You said it was an EMP,” Knock Out eventually replies, even as Tesarus gives one last choked scream before falling still.

“Well, if I’d said ‘a spark nullifier slash torture device,’ I highly doubt I would’ve been able to work in peace,” Brainstorm retorts, voice dry, "Though I don't know what you're expecting - I specialize in biotech and weaponry for a reason."

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” Knock Out hastens to reassure, staff held at rest, “I just didn’t think your delicate Autobot sensibilities would allow for something so… devious.”

Brainstorm makes a low noise, but the vocals and glyphs of his next statement are purely coquettish, “Flattery won’t get you those schematics, nice aft or not.”

Before any reply can be made to _that_ , and honestly, Cyclonus doesn't want to know, Skids and Bumblebee disembark from the _Peaceful Tyranny_ , dragging two smaller mechs – smaller as compared to Helex and Tesarus, so average size – between them.

“One of them was already down,” Skids reports and Bumblebee shifts the mech’s limp body for emphasis, “And the other was screaming in what might've been old Cybertronian before we managed to shut him up. According to intel, they’ve gotta be Vos and Kaon but I have no fraggin’ clue which is which. Arcee’s mapping out the ship and making a copy of their hard drive.”

“Old Cybertronian?” Cyclonus finds himself asking, curiosity peaked.

“Well,” Skids hedges, “It sounded like a transformation cog being shredded through a jet turbine, but I’ve been told that’s a matter of dialect.”

Cyclonus ignores that – most Cybertronians no longer have the internals for old Cybertronian, preferring their posh Towers accents and the like, “Do you remember what he said?”

“Uh,” Skids stammers and then makes a series of guttural, shifting noises.

Cyclonus frowns, “’Sunless fissure?’ He was screaming about dark pits?”

Skids shrugs, “I probably got some inflections wrong; I don’t make the habit of keeping up with dead dialects.”

Sunless fissures? Cyclonus starts a mental catalog of possible synonyms and translations; caves, caverns, abandoned ruins, even…

Arcee disembarks the _Tyranny_ in her alt form, jumping the ramp and transforming mid-air. She has eyes only for Prime, “Optimus, there are a frag ton of warnings popping up all over the HUD, I think there might be something wr-”

That, of course, is when the _Tyranny_ explodes.

* * *

The _Tyranny_ isn’t exploding.

Okay, no, that’s not entirely true. The are definitely some explosive noises and smoking parts, but the ship itself isn’t the source of the explosions. There, better.

Arcee slams into Skids’ side hard, both of them thrown off their pedes from the shockwave. Helex, who hasn’t moved much since Tesarus went down and who might be experiencing some motor skill issues, is struggling to stay upright, arms visibly straining. Kaon and Vos are collapsed not too far from them, equally unmoving.

And Tarn’s awake.

“What is this?” He spits, one hand gripped tight around the cables of Starscream’s neck as he stares out at the smoking _Tyranny_ and the still forms of his squad mates, “What have you _done_?”

When all Starscream does is choke feebly, Tarn _throws_ the Seeker, like any other mech would toss away a piece of scrap metal. Skywarp barely manages to catch him. Honestly, Phase Sixers are terrifying.

“Slag,” Brainstorm can hear Thundercracker cursing, aft planted firmly on the ground. Brainstorm can see the thin cracks spiderwebbing across the Seeker's chassis from a distance of 15 kliks; mech’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

“You,” Tarn snarls at them, posture still tall and voice still smooth as ever, “ _All_ of you.  Are going. To **die** here.”

Brainstorm’s not ashamed to admit that his knees hit the dirt rather harshly. He can feel his internals starting to lock up and Tarn’s voice drops. He can hear at least five others falling. If nothing else, he can take heart in the fact that Tarn too is visibly straining – lining up his voice with the rhythms of at least six separate mechs' sparks at the same time can’t be an easy feat. It would be impressive, if it wasn't slowly smothering his spark to death.

“ _Kneel_ , you pathetic wastrels,” Tarn snaps, and Brainstorm’s helm touches the earth. His audials are protesting loudly, full of static and he can’t seem to move, only fall.

“I will raze this planet if it is the last action I take,” Tarn promises, back stiff and voice barely above a murmur. The Tyranny chooses that moment to scream, metal shrieking as it’s torn away, and by now the source of the explosion has become clear.

“Sunless fissures,” Cyclonus manages to spit, sounding utterly disgusted with himself, “The mad glitch was talking about _black holes_.”

* * *

“Soundwave: Will return.”

“Return from _where_ , what are you _doi_ -”

* * *

A few things happen in rapid succession, if not simultaneously:

The black hole widens, screeching madly, taking not only parts of the Tyranny but pulling at Vos, Kaon, Helex and Tesarus as well.

With a tearing noise, a swirling blue vortex opens up around the black hole and swallows it. Pieces of the Peaceful Tyranny disappear, followed shortly by Vos and Kaon. Helex goes next with a yell, and Tesarus is barely pulled through, an entire arm shorn off and left behind.

Tarn’s voice is low – so, so low – but still manages to be heard as he tells them, “ **Die** , you useless pieces of scrap. Die here on this terran planet you betray your heritage for. Just **_die_** -”

Just as Tarn’s voice is about to hit that lowest, final pitch, another vortex swirls open directly behind him. There's a blur of purple and black, and Soundwave - partially transformed - has firmly grasped Tarn by the tracks and chassis, thrusters roaring. Without stopping, or even slowing in speed, the two go spiraling into the wormhole after the others. It zips itself shut a few astroseconds behind them.

The dust settles, they take collective shuddering breaths, and all is silent.

* * *

“Someone give me a status report or _so help me_ -” Ratchet is yelling across all the comm channels, an endless cacophony of beeps and alerts playing in the background, “Soundwave tore out of here like a mech out the Pit and I’m getting reported consecutive Space Bridge activity on both Autobot _and_ Decepticon frequencies so _one of you start talking_.”

* * *

Prime manages to calm Ratchet down, eventually. Sort of. More accurately, the medic busies himself fussing over their collective injuries - few of them serious - while the rest of them mill around, no one willing to ask what might’ve happened to Soundwave.

Starscream sulks in one corner, a plaster cast on his throat and wings from when Tarn throttled him and shortly thereafter slammed him into the ground. Skywarp idles near him, and the two exchange soft, furious words. Brainstorm is near Skids and Knock Out, the latter two moving stiff joints from getting caught up in the initial shockwaves.

Bumblebee, Arcee and Prime are hovering anxiously as Rachet sutures up Bulkhead’s torn energon lines.

Cyclonus is—actually, _where_ is—?

“I do not doubt that Soundwave lives,” Cyclonus says from _right fraggin’ behind him_ , and Thundercracker only manages not to jump because doing so would probably offline him for good. Ratchet had welded the cracks in his chassis in a rush job, promising to smith replacement parts out of some superalloys when everything cooled down.

“What?” Thundercracker stammers dumbly, wings flexing in surprise.

“Soundwave. I presume he has excellent mastery over the Space and Ground Bridges, among whatever he was planning.”

“Planning?” Thundercracker scoffs, “He opened a space bridge _around_ a black hole and then _flew into it_.”

Cyclonus makes a conceding noise, but continues, “I have never known Soundwave to act without a plan, even a poor one. He will return.”

Thundercracker would like nothing more than to believe that.

* * *

He does come back. Soundwave, that is.

He comes back with fractures in his chassis and one huge crack across his helm visor and Ravage is carrying Soundwave’s _entire left wing_ delicately between their jaws, but he comes back. It takes Ratchet near a deca-cycle to patch all the damage as best he can, but Soundwave comes back. Laserbeak is in critical condition and Ravage is missing an optic and has sprained a pede and they all look blown to the Pit, but they’re back.

Cyclonus is quietly smug about it for _joors_.

* * *

Dealing with Skywarp is exhausting. Thundercracker has no idea what his trinemate went through in the time they’ve been apart – and Skywarp, for all his easy grins and bragging, isn’t telling – but Skywarp is… different. Looser, somehow. Sharper, too.

He doesn’t so much smile as bare his denta, and Thundercracker hopes to Primus that Skywarp hasn’t been as alone these last hundreds of vorns. Solitude, Thundercracker can handle; he’d been alone before the trine and he’s been alone after. But Skywarp… Skywarp is a social mech. Even if he was the one to keep the trine from falling apart, he was also the one who needed it the most.

Fewer things could have done worse to Skywarp than being stuck with himself for a hundred vorns.

“Thundercracker: Pensive.”

Soundwave’s vocalizer had been fritzed to the Pit after he’d gotten back – Ratchet had mentioned something about exposure to the vacuum of space – and even now there’s a crackle of static between syllables.

“I’m fine,” Thundercracker deflects, like he’s not brooding away in the medbay to avoid his the rest of his trine, “What’s everyone’s status?”

“Cyclonus: Departed. Knock Out and Brainstorm: Departing within the mega-cycle. Skids: Remaining.”

“Yeah?” It figures. Cyclonus probably took off in the dead of night without a word. Knock Out and Brainstorm taking off together makes Thundercracker grimace; whoever winds up stuck with those two would need the patience of a Prime. Or Ratchet’s temper and an arsenal of wrenches. Skids seems like he would do well on Earth, though—

“… What about ‘Warp and ‘Screamer?”

Soundwave is quiet for a long moment. At his pedes, Ravage gazes squarely at Thundercracker, as though asking, _Why ask what you already know_?

“…Skywarp and Starscream: Departed seven cycles ago.”

Thundercracker huffs. Mostly he isn’t surprised. Hurt? Well yeah, but not surprised.

He knows they have a long way to go before they can really call themselves a trine again. Skywarp saved him from getting his aft offlined, and Thundercracker knows he’d do the same for either of them… but, while a small part of him wants to scream because they left him _again_ , the larger part of him isn’t afraid to admit that he’s not ready to fly with them again. He hasn’t forgiven Skywarp – they haven’t forgiven each other – for what happened all those vorns ago when Skywarp put him down like something feral, something expendable. He still doesn't know how to feel about Starscreams radio silence. How to face his own faults - how he left them, too. Maybe first.

“Thundercracker: Functional?”

“I’m not gonna cry, if that’s what you mean,” Thundercracker scowls, shoving errant thoughts of his trine mates away.

Soundwave inclines his helm in what would be a gesture of acquiesce on any other mech.

“What about you?”

“Soundwave: Free to depart at any time.”

“You better be,” Thundercracker snorts, “You saved this whole slaggin’ solar system; the Autobots couldn’t keep you under lock and key if they wanted to.”

Soundwave doesn’t respond to that, but for a tilt of his helm. Ravage continues to stare.

Suddenly and viciously embarrassed, Thundercracker averts his optics, crossing his arms over his chassis, “I-uh, well, yeah. Those Auto-dorks would hafta answer to me if they even thought about it.”

Soundwave still doesn’t say anything – although Ravage certainly looks unbearably smug – but something, the set of his wings or the shift of his pedes, looks less tense. Thundercracker sort of wants to put himself out of his own misery. The silence lingers, but comfortably.

“You know,” Thundercracker starts, just because he can practically feel Soundwave’s gaze on him and it makes him want to crawl out of his own armor, “Skywarp came to see me when I was on the mend.”

Soundwave’s focus sharpens – wing tips lifting in intrigue despite his otherwise apathetic countenance.

“Yeah,” Thundercracker chuckles because it’s either laugh or scream, “I wasn’t expecting it either.”

Soundwave wavers, weight shifting between his pedes, before he takes two small steps forward, stopping at Thundercracker’s side.

“He called me a traitor,” Thundercracker continues; he can hardly stop now that’s he’s started, “But he also called me his… do you know what a ‘cwtsh’ is?”

A series of search engines and cross-references pop up across Soundwave’s helm – a few of them glitching and flickering where the crack once was – but after a moment, Soundwave intones, “Negative.”

Thundercracker runs his glossa over his denta, thinking. The word—more of a concept that a simple noun—it’s pre-War Vosian slang, part of the Seeker dialect and it doesn’t exactly translate well into the common dialect.

“I… it’s like he’s calling me his own personal haven. But he didn’t call be a traitor such much as a ‘dead angle’. So he trusts me to protect him and care about him but not enough to fly with me as part of a trine.”

Soundwave looks almost _offended_ on his behalf, so Thundercracker hastens to add, “Don’t take it that way – I told him I felt the same way about him. He’s my trinemate and I’ll always love him, but he left me for dead. Him and Starscream both. And we’re not gonna talk it out because that’s not how we work. But until we do, we probably won’t be flying together. I knew that when he came to me and them leaving only cements that.”

Soundwave’s wings twitch to the side, a quick sharp flick of begrudging acceptance, before he changes the subject and asks, “Thundercracker: Destination Known?”

Thundercracker shrugs, watching Soundwave only in the periphery of his optics, “Nah. Didn’t get to think that far ahead.”

A smooth movement draws his attention and he watches Ravage slink and slide into Soundwave, almost melding into their carrier. He’s never actually seen any of the symbiotes engage or disengage, only noted their presence or absence. He wonders how many mechs have ever seen such a sight, carrier and cassette so seamlessly intertwined. He knows without knowing that it hasn't been many, and something in him feels humbled.

“Soundwave: Destination Transgalactic. Thundercracker: ... Welcome To Accompany.”

Thundercracker’s helm snaps up at the soft statement - the soft question - and he stops short. Faceplate made transparent, Soundwave’s optics – bright halogen white – squarely meet his own. They gaze at each other for a long moment, before Thundercracker turns away, the corners of his lips twitching.

“Sure,” he admits, and he lets himself smile, “I'd like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s the end!
> 
> There are a lot of my own personal headcanons woven into the characterization of the characters in this fic, so if anyone seems a touch OOC to you, it's because I'm very much mixing and matching or ignoring canon altogether.
> 
> I’ve spoken a bit about the trine before, but if it’s not obvious by now, Thundercracker is my favorite, so the story focuses more on him than it does Skywarp and Starscream. Just because they’re a trine doesn’t mean they’re always or even ever going to get along. Not all or even most of their issues are going to be solved just like that because there’s a lot of hurt and betrayal there on all ends, but between Thundercracker and Skywarp most of all. If anything's going to be mended, it'll have to be on their own terms and not because of DJD-related extenuating circumstances.


End file.
